


Trick or Trope

by CircleUp



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blow Jobs, Feeding, Gags, Glory Hole, Kinktober, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Voyeurism, Warnings May Change, tags will change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2020-11-08 17:43:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20839490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CircleUp/pseuds/CircleUp
Summary: Unrelated stories covering prompts gathered during Kinktober. An index is available in the first chapter with pairings, prompts, and warnings if necessary, so you know what to skip, or skip to. Tags will be added as stories go up.





	1. Index

Archive warnings will be marked on the below prompts as needed, otherwise assume they are all "No Archive Warnings Apply" (and explicit).

1) Index  
2) Glory Hole - Steve Rogers/Tony Stark  
3) Soft Dom - Wade Wilson/Peter Parker  
4) Phallic Gags - Steve Rogers/Tony Stark  
5) Orgasm Denial - Wade Wilson/Peter Parker  
6) Pillow Prince - Steve Rogers/Tony Stark  
7) Domesticity - Wade Wilson/Peter Parker  
8) Masturbation - Steve Rogers/Tony Stark  
9) Feederism - Wade Wilson/Peter Parker  
10) Heat Cycle  
11) Bondage  
12) Anonymous Sex  
13) Prostitution  
14) Knotting  
15) Biting/Marking  
16) Clothing Theft  
17) Stuck in a Wall  
18) Angry/Hate Sex  
19) Brat Taming  
20) Daddy Kink  
21) Aphrodisiacs  
22) Dub-Con/Non-Con  
23) Massage  
24) Hypnosis/Mind Control  
25) Reluctant Sex/Blackmail  
26) Body Swap  
27) Exhibitionism  
28) Tentacles  
29) Outdoor Sex  
30) Cuckolding  
31) Fucking Machine  
32) Telepathic or Empathic Bonds


	2. Glory Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony introduces Steve to the wonders of modern bathroom stalls.

"There's something strange going on in the bathrooms," Tony begins in his usual fashion, no lead-in or anything. Steve looks up from the coffee pot. They're in SHIELD Headquarters and Steve can't really imagine what Tony's doing here since he actively avoids the place. Tony leans against a counter back on his elbows, the picture of casual. He's in business attire rather than how he prefers to visit HQ, wearing the most slummy outfit he has. Steve thinks that Tony saves his grease-stained jeans solely for when Fury calls him in, because he never sees Tony in them otherwise.

"Is there?" Steve's inquiry is polite rather than interested. Tony helps himself to someone else's mug from a cupboard and a cup of the coffee, taking all of what's been brewed so far and leaving Steve waiting with nothing.

"I might call Strange in to look it over," Tony nods, taking a slurp of it, black. It's too bitter, somehow burnt already, and he grimaces but drinks more.

Steve decides to take the bait. He isn't sure where this is going, but Tony's been making eyes at him all month that are getting hard to ignore. Maybe this is his way of being subtle. "Want to show me? I have a bit."

That's the right response. Tony's smile is satisfied. "Sure, if you want. Only happens at specific times of day though. Give it—" and he glances at the time. "An hour, at noon."

It's definitely a hook-up then. Steve considers declining, but decides he can decline based on what exactly Tony has planned, so he murmurs some agreement and Tony peels himself off of the counter to saunter, cup-in-hand, down the hallway, out of sight.

At noon, Steve enters the bathroom. Three of the four stalls are unoccupied, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out what Steve is supposed to do. In the stall to the right of the one with the closed door is a hole cut into the wall.

Steve stares at it, a combination of amused and turned on. From the other stall, Tony says, "Do you want a hand with anything, big boy?"

Steve sighs. "Did you cut this hole in the wall yourself, Tony?"

There's a moment of silence. "It's called a glory hole," he supplies, avoiding an affirmative answer.

"Hmm," Steve finds himself biting back a smile. "And what am I supposed to do with it?"

"Pull out your dick, get yourself a little hard, put it through, and let me handle the rest," Tony tells him, since there's no reason to be anything but direct now.

Steve finds it easy to ignore all the reasons why this is a bad idea. It isn't like he hasn't thought about this. There's the zip of his zipper, a shuck of cloth, and he's wrapping a hand around himself for a few slow strokes. The hole is almost too small for him to fit, and he hesitates before guiding himself through.

There's a whistle on the other end. He feels fingers skim over the length of his cock, the touch incredibly soft. "Wow. I misjudged. Bigger hole next time," he murmurs, and Steve is saved from a response by a tongue flicking hot and wet over his head.

Steve sighs, letting his eyes close. The tongue circles his head, tastes the drop of precum beading off the tip. Steve hears Tony's soft moan as he lips at him, popping his head into his mouth and sucking softly.

Steve suddenly wishes he could see him, watch those eyes flutter closed, grab his hair and feed his cock into that mouth. Make Tony shut up for once.

But Tony isn't talking now. He moves his hand away so he can take more and more of Steve in, inch-by-inch, until Steve is hitting the back of his throat. He feels Tony spasm around him, swallowing back his gag reflex, and it takes every ounce of Steve's willpower not to thrust a little forward.

Steve isn't loud. He expresses himself in soft huffs of air, in small gasps just loud enough to let Tony know he's doing the job right as he bobs up and down, fucking his mouth over Steve's length, and Steve can already feel his balls tightening. He wants to enjoy this. He wants to choke him on it. He wants to spurt over his face, make him walk around HQ marked by Steve.

Steve groans and he does stutter his hips forward, and Tony's coughing after is worth it as he spills down his throat.

Steve isn't quick to leave that warmth, even though Tony's very obviously holding back a coughing fit. He finally sighs and pulls out, back to his side of the wall, and lets Tony recover.

"Welcome to the sexual wonders of the modern age," Tony manages. Steve's pleased to hear that his voice is a little hoarse.

"We had glory holes in the 40s, Tony," Steve says, now openly amused and not bothering to hide it.

"Well," Tony says through the wall. He stops, left speechless for a moment with this unprecedented turn of events. It doesn't last long. "Don't you feel foolish, letting all this time go by when you could have been getting daily killer blowjobs."

"No one said it was killer." Steve pulls his pants up and zips up the zipper while Tony scoffs.

"I'm saying it was. I know for a fact it was, Rogers, don't test me."

"Back to Rogers now?" There had been some tension in him that is ebbing now under the easy back-and-forth. He hadn't cared in the heat of it but afterward, left with a clearer head, Steve had a premonition that things might change between them. It doesn't seem like that will be the case now, though there is a wall between them still. A literal one. Maybe it'll be different when he can see Tony's eyes.

"Oh, you think that you coming in my mouth gives you first name privileges?" Tony teases easily. He sounds breathless. Steve's superior hearing picks up the slick sound of a hand over flesh. Tony's close.

"I think that you coming by my room tonight certainly does." Steve gets straight to the point. He hears Tony's breathing hitch, his hand still. He'd have no idea what Tony had just done if it wasn't for Steve's enhancements. Tony's quiet, but not quiet enough. "Next time I'll help you with that."

"Oh, for crying out loud," Tony realizes, but laughs when he's caught out, unoffended. Then: "I leave, you wait five and come out after?"

Steve finds his voice warm. Tony's always a contradiction. "Sure, Tony."

He hears the other door open, then footsteps, and the outer door opens and closes.

Steve waits the full five minutes. He figures Tony's earned that.


	3. Soft Dom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade ties Peter up to gently remind him that he's a good boy.

Sex with Wade is easy.

Peter tries not to think about that, how easy it is to fall into bed with him. How many _times_ he's fallen into bed with him. It started out as quick fucks, more a release of anger and tension than any kind of feelings shared between the two of them, but now it's become something more. Now they head back to Wade's place multiple times a week, kiss and fumble their ways through his messy apartment, and tumble into his bed, where Wade coaxes orgasms out of him softly.

Peter used to say that he hated Wade and everything that he stood for. Now he's not so sure. Now he thinks it might be the opposite.

"That's it, baby boy." The mercenary's voice is low, a proud burr sounding from the vicinity of Peter's legs. "There you go. Look at you."

Peter's blindfolded. His hands are tied over his head to bed posts, which because of his super-strength is more of a suggestion than an actual restriction, but it's one he abides by. Peter's never broken the bindings Wade puts him in, except once and completely by accident, not even when he's begging. He can feel Wade's warmth between his legs, his weight dipping the bed. Strong hands slide up the insides of his thighs, bare and out of their usual leather. Wade's skin is always warm to the touch, like he's got a fever, his body temperature constantly running high.

Peter lets his knees fall apart, loose, as Wade presses a kiss to his balls. His cock is aching.

"Wade," Peter breathes out, head shifting a little like he could see him despite the blindfold. He'll beg later but for now it's just a breathy sigh. Peter's comfortable and drifting, and even as aroused as he is, that always seems like a secondary need when Wade has him like this.

He hears Wade snap open a cap, sharp, a gunshot. Everything's so much louder with the cloth over his eyes. A second later, the tips of two slick fingers are circling his entrance, and Peter lets out a moan.

"Good," Wade praises. His fingers nudge at him, teasing, soft. "I like hearing how much you want me. I'm gonna take care of you, Petey-pie. I know what you need."

He does, too. He always does. Wade has an uncanny knack for being able to guess exactly what kind of release Peter's craving that day usually well before Peter even knows. It's frustrating, sometimes, in the moment, but he's come to trust that knowledge, because it's always right.

Or maybe the thing Peter wants most is just Wade, any way, in any form.

Two fingers breach him, slowly, slowly, to the knuckle. Wade presses soft, open-mouthed kisses to Peter's thighs as he works his fingers in and out with that same aching, molasses pace. "I love how beautifully you open up for me," he murmurs, cheek resting against Peter's skin now. "Nice and relaxed. That's good, baby boy, you're perfect."

"I am?" Peter has to check sometimes. Wade's heaps of praise make him feel gutted, laid bare in ways that being naked can't compare to.

Wade huffs, surprised. He's stretching Peter now, working him open with an intent, and pulls out only enough to add a third finger. It's a lot. It always is. Wade's big. Big hands, big muscles, big cock. "'Course you are. My perfect Spidey. You're so good, letting yourself relax, letting yourself feel good with me."

Wade hits that spot in him that makes arousal pool in his gut, makes his spine feel liquid. Peter whines, flexing against the restraints.

"Can you say that for me, sweetheart?" Wade murmurs.

"Hmm?"

"Wantcha to say that for me. Are you my good boy?" Wade makes sure his fingers curled to hit that spot inside of Peter every time now, the in-and-out of it fucking him carefully, thoroughly. Peter's toes are curling.

"Yes Wade. I'm yours. I'm—" and he's always had problems with self-praise, but manages to get through it even with the stumble. Peter knows what Wade wants. "I'm good."

Wade smiles.

He pulls out all the way but a moment later he's replacing his fingers with something more, finding his home in the welcoming heat of Peter's body. He strokes Peter in time to his thrusts, and they both come one after the other, Peter over his chest and Wade deep inside him. Then the blindfold's untied, his wrists unbound, and Wade leans down to kiss him without pulling out, not yet.

"Good," he whispers, and for a little, for that moment, Peter's sure he is.


	4. Phallic Gag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve buys Tony a gag.

They aren't dating. Their trysts aren't a secret either, entirely, but they don't shove them in anyone's faces. They're discreet, that's the word Steve uses one afternoon. Tony, unashamed by it, says he doesn't think the noises he personally makes qualify for that description, and Steve qualifies it by saying that they're as discreet as they can be considering the often semi-public locations for their trysts.

"Trysts," Tony repeats, a brow raising.

Steve meets his eyes. "Do you want to call them something else?"

"You're so old," Tony responds, because he doesn't have a real answer. Because sometimes he does want that, when he really thinks about it, when he isn't busy choking or writhing on Steve's cock. It's a distraction, Tony will be the first to admit that, and a good one. But sometimes yes, maybe he does want a little more, a little of something else, if only because _tryst_ in this context implies something in-and-out. It's true, it's the right word for what they have, but every now-and-then it isn't what Tony craves.

Maybe dinner with Steve some time wouldn't be so bad. Usually Tony scoffs at the very idea, but sometimes he gets in a _truthful_ mood and he lets himself think about it. They could sit down, eat. Talk.

They don't really talk. They communicate, that's true. They communicate fairly well, all things told, given that both of them have big personalities, both of them fill a room. Tony feels like they're less friends and more two people who have agreed on a truce. From what battle, Tony isn't sure, but they're definitely in a mutual accord, and not just one in pursuit of mutual pleasure.

Tony hopes they never find a battle they won't ally over. He doesn't want to live through the fallout of that. 

Tonight though is different. They find their way to Steve's floor, which is normal, but then Steve says, "I have something," and moves toward a shipping box he's already opened. Tony lifts a brow, which stays up when Steve pulls out the phallic gag.

"Not really into gags," is the first thing Tony says. It's thick, black, and shorter than Steve is. Tony will be able to breathe with that down his throat, but it won't be comfortable.

"I figured," Steve says even though he has no reason to know that. It hasn't come up. Tony reaches out for it on auto-pilot and Steve lets him have the toy.

"You want to shut me up?" Tony wonders. He's strangely hesitant to touch the dildo itself and handles the straps and base only.

Steve just shrugs. "Thought we could try something different tonight."

Different. Tony had just been thinking about things being different. What the hell. He nods, but adds, "Nothing else," on another whim. He nearly regrets the impulse the second it's out of his mouth but doesn't take the words back.

"Alright," Steve says, amenable.

Steve doesn't help Tony put it on. Tony has to open his mouth to take the dildo, swallowing down a gag reflex around it a few times, while it jostles and bumps into the back of his throat as he fumbles for the straps. It takes a few attempts to get it secure, and when it's tight and he can drop his hands, he glares at Steve, who only shrugs and steps into Tony's space.

Steve unbuttons his shirt, revealing the arc reactor and the scarring. Tony isn't overly sensitive about either in general, but sometimes he is around Steve, the modern day Adonis.

Steve slides the shirt off of Tony's shoulders and lets it fall to the floor, then cups his jaw with one large hand, tracing the edge of the gag with his thumb.

"Pretty," Steve sighs, like the compliment is a chore, letting his hand drop to Tony's chest, scraping over a nipple with his nails. It makes Tony twitch.

Steve explores a little and Tony lets him, oddly still under the roaming hands. It's non-sexual, above the pants, Steve's fingers barely skimming over his skin. Ticklish. Tony's head is buzzing, soft. He's not under, but it's nice. He won't admit that, but it's nice.

"It's not about shutting you up," Steve murmurs. Tony's eyes flick up to him, but Steve is looking down at the arc reactor, which he's drawing a line around with his fingertip. "It isn't. It's just about… silence. Not just you," he adds when Tony makes a noise around the cock that's disbelieving. "I don't know. I just thought, Tony's always talking. Maybe he'd like to choke on something instead. Maybe it is about shutting you up," Steve adds, tapping a finger lightly on the glass. Tony grimaces.

"I don't think we communicate well," Steve says, more to himself than to Tony, who doesn't think he's ever been in a more ironic situation. "I'm not sure how to solve that, though."

There's drool pooling in Tony's mouth. He tries to swallow a few times, clumsy.

"I like the gag. I know you don't. You look good with it," Steve says. He's reaching for the straps already, undoing them with far more ease than Tony had in getting them on. Tony's surprised, for all of that, that it's over so quickly. He coughs weakly when Steve guides it out of his mouth, and Steve puts it on the table to clean.

"Let's have dinner," Steve says, watching him.

Tony rubs his throat. "I've got work."

"Next time, then."

Tony knows there won't be a next time. Steve won't offer something different from their trysts again. He wonders if he'll throw out the gag.

"Next time," Tony says.


	5. Orgasm Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter realizes Wade doesn't get blissed out after sex because of how quickly he processes chemicals, and decides to try to fix that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm travelling right now which is why I'm behind, but I have plans for every chapter and will try to either catch up, or just finish the whole thing a little late. Either way it'll get done.

"I don't think the pizza guy's coming," Peter says, staring mournfully out of the window. Snow is falling outside, thick and heavy flakes that stick to everything. Wade clicks his tongue from the couch behind him, reproachful though teasingly so.

"You're kinda a glass half empty guy, aren'tcha, Petey?" The mercenary is sprawled out on the couch, his mask off but otherwise in his suit, stuffing fistfuls of popcorn into his mouth. It's making a mess. "Want me to make you half-full?"

Peter looks away from the snow and back at Wade. They're in the mercenary's apartment, which has, since Peter started coming around, been tidied up. Somewhat. Peter thinks Wade might have hired a housekeeper, because he's pretty sure nothing short of a divine intervention could get Wade to wash his own dishes. "_Half_-full? What's that even mean?"

Wade freezes, his cheeks stuffed full of popcorn like a chipmunk. He's obviously thinking on how he can turn this failed simile into a winner. Peter laughs, though, fond. "Don't strain yourself."

"I'm thinking!" Wade protests. A couple of popcorn bits spray out of his over-full mouth.

"You're incredible attractive right now, you know that?" says Peter dryly.

Wade manages to swallow and grin. "Attractive enough for you to sit on my face?"

Peter gives him a look and glances back out the window. He must see something because he moves for the door. "I've got a better idea, actually. But we're getting actually full first."

They pay with Wade's money—of the two of them, one of them makes much, much less—and slump against each other on the couch, chowing down on pizza while watching some terrible reality TV show Wade puts on. He's licking grease off his gloves, which he hadn't bothered to take off, when Peter says, "Now," in a brisk enough tone to merit Wade's full attention. "I want you to undress and get in bed."

"Ooo. Are we roleplaying?" Wade's hopeful.

Peter gives him a tolerant look. "No. You're getting undressed and getting into bed. Shoo," he adds.

"Oh em gee. You're just trying to trick me into sleeping!"

Peter rolls his eyes. "I'm _going_ to if you don't get your butt—"

"—ha, butt," Wade interjects, and is ignored.

"—into bed right now," Peter finishes gamely.

He goes. Wade's more than curious about what he has in mind. He's in a coy pose on the bed when Peter comes in, also naked, and Wade forgets about the joke he'd had prepped. "Baby boy, come on over here, sweetheart. I want to ride you like one of those Brokeback Mountain horses."

"That's…" Peter tries not to sigh, determined not to be distracted by Wade's shenanigans. "Shush," Peter tells him. He reaches for a web shooter on the dresser. He leaves a spare here, an older model, just in case, though this definitely wasn't what his past self had in mind for its use.

"Gonna gag me?" Wade asks, interested. He relaxes back down, head tilted on the pillow at that curious-dog angle he has.

"No, I want to hear you," Peter says, and he maneuvers Wade around to his liking, pulling up his arms and then webbing his wrists to the bed posts.

"I absolutely love where this is going," Wade says. He flexes and the webbing holds. He doesn't even have to pretend to be caught, because he actually is, which he's always loved. His Spidey's super-strength is so sexy.

"I don't think you're going to love it for long," Peter smirks. He uncaps a bottle of lube and smoothes his hand over Wade's cock, already half-hard just from seeing Peter naked, stroking a few slick times. Wade's just arching up into it when Peter slides the cock ring over him, down his length, to tuck snugly against his balls. He stops stroking Wade to focus on the second loop and carefully secures it around his balls next.

"Wait," Wade says, and Peter grins up at him, impishly.

"You told me one time," Peter says, and as he talks he preps himself efficiently, one finger then two sliding in, working himself open. He's taken Wade a hundred times and it's always a stretch. "Why you always jerk off at least twice."

"Oh no," Wade groans. "You can't hold anything I said in the past against me."

"It's because your body processes chemicals fast," Peter continues. He straddles Wade, who hasn't stopped looking up at him raptly. "All the high you get from coming is gone right after."

"This is the sexiest lecture I've ever been given," Wade tells Peter. He's hitching his hips up, trying to make contact, failing.

"So I thought," Peter says as he grips Wade with a slick hand. A few more strokes and he's being lined up, pressed to Peter's entrance. Wade's lips fall open. "That there might be another way to get you there. All blissed out," he adds with a groan as he sinks down. He takes Wade in all the way, all at once, and Peter cuts off for a moment to let himself adjust breathing. Wade's expression mirrors his own, eyes a little glazed over.

"Baby boy," Wade groans, making Peter smile. He rocks his hips experimentally, loving the feel of Wade inside of him, thick and hot. It used to be on the side of uncomfortable, painful even, but now he craves it.

"Don't come," Peter warns him, and starts to move.

Wade flexes against the webs but he's a good boy and the sight alone of Peter fucking himself on his cock is hot enough to keep him pinned there. Peter doesn't draw it out, the only sounds in the room the slick slide of Wade's in him, and flesh slapping against flesh, and breathy sighs. Peter comes like that, over Wade's chest, with a few quick strokes, and Wade licks his lips hopefully.

Peter just stays there.

It's easy at first and then it's harder. Peter stays on Wade's cock until he's ready to go again, and this time Wade is much closer even with the cock ring, thrusting up to meet Peter's hips, but Peter pulls off before he can really get anywhere, leaving Wade aching and abruptly cold, to jerk off over Wade's chest again.

"Wait," Wade groans, protesting, maybe finally realizing what is happening.

"Don't come," Peter emphasizes. He gets a cloth to clean Wade's chest off, his expression soft from two orgasms. "It's gonna feel good after. I promise."

He kisses Wade, and lets him calm down a little before he reaches out with a hand to play with him lazily.

Peter keeps Wade on the edge. He cleans him off to suck him, pulling off when Wade is straining so hard he's actually a little worried the webbing might break. He fucks him again, lazy and slow, in no rush toward his own climax. He strokes him, over and over, while Wade's frustrated groans turn into pleas. He'll do anything Peter wants, he says. He's there, it'll be good, let him come. Does Peter want money? He can give Peter money.

That last one makes Peter laugh.

Wade's an absolute mess when he gives up, going slack on the bed. His cock angry red and hard, sweat is slick all over his body, and his eyes are glazed over with a mixture of lust and something more.

"You're ready," Peter whispers, reverent. Wade doesn't really respond as he moves between his legs, and he knows this will hurt. Peter unfastens the cock ring, and whispers, "you can come," and then his mouth is on Wade.

Peter barely has to bob up and down before he's shooting into his mouth, shouting something incomprehensible. There's so much cum that Peter has to swallow through it, Wade pulsing down his throat, shuddering all over.

Finally, finally, he stills with a gasping noise that sounds almost like a sob.

Peter holds him on his tongue for another moment longer, then pulls off.

Wade's beautiful. He looks like what Peter must look like after a long fuck, relaxed and dozy and only half there, the weight of everything off of his shoulders if only for this one minute. Peter gently cuts him free and gathers Wade up against his chest, his arms around him, snug, warm.

Wade mumbles and nuzzles in, half asleep, as Peter presses a kiss to his bald crown.

Peter doesn't break the silence with words. He just holds him there until Wade falls asleep knowing he's loved.


	6. Pillow Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve takes advantage of Tony's inability to fuck him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back home. Sincere apologies for the delay, I'll be posting regularly now.

"What the..." Tony says. He stops moving, thrown off.

"What?"

"It won't..." And oh god if this isn't the most humiliating thing that has ever happened to Tony, he doesn't know what is. "It won't go in."

Steve's smirk is slow. "Huh," he says, not at all surprised by this. It's a fact Tony doesn't miss and his eyes narrow.

"You knew!"

"Hmm?" Steve is lazily playing with himself, big hand around big cock. Tony is between his legs, his cock slicked with lube and Steve prepped with two fingers. He'd been tight when Tony had finger-fucked him open, but it hadn't occurred to him even for a moment that this wouldn't work at all.

Tony's eyes track Steve's hand, the lazy strokes up and down his length. He gets distracted just for a moment, then refocuses.

"You aren't surprised at all," Tony restates.

"I suppose if you aren't up for it," Steve says, casual. He strokes his thumb over the head of his cock, slick with precum. "We can try something else."

Tony scowls.

"Is this a supersoldier thing? It is," he decides without waiting for Steve to answer. It's answered anyway when Steve's smirk only widens. "How is having some sort of… super asshole in any way helping America?"

"Well, it _is_ a muscle," Steve says, too knowing. He's clearly tried this before. Tony glares at him.

"Why'd you even let me try!"

"You wanted to fuck," Steve says. The word is always filthy coming from him, spilling out of his mouth like pure sin. "And I can't fuck you, can I?"

They've tried, but saying Steve is a big boy undersells it. Tony thinks they can work up to it, but they aren't there yet. His scowl deepens, then deepens even more when Steve says, "Why don't you use your mouth instead?"

"_Me_ use _my_ mouth?!" Tony splutters it.

"I can't go down on you. You're covered in lube," Steve points out, sounding reasonable.

"I can wash it off," Tony mutters, but he's already shifting to put himself on his elbows between Steve's powerful thighs. It pins his now-neglected cock between his body and the sheets. The friction isn't a warm body but it's nicer than nothing. Tony shifts a little into it.

Steve notices. "Don't get distracted," he orders. "You can jerk off after," and Tony has never glared harder but he doesn't disobey.

He can't fit Steve all the way into his mouth, and he's tried. Tony considered it a challenge in the beginning, when they first started doing this, but not even his willpower is up for the physical restrictions there. He always settles for the tip and a few inches, his lips stretching obscenely wide as he takes Steve in, and lets his hand make up for the rest, wrapping his fingers around the base.

Steve sighs and lets his head fall back against the pillow, petting Tony absently. "Good boy," he murmurs. "That's it."

Steve doesn't make much noise, so the air fills instead with the slick sound of Tony sucking on Steve, his head bobbing up and down, lips spit-slicked and unable to swallow. He is always a mess when they do this. Steve likes it and tells him so often.

"Think I'll put you on your knees like this next time we're at HQ," he murmurs. Tony's eyes shoot up to look at Steve through his lashes. Steve's eyes are dark. "You can talk to Fury after you've had me come down your throat. You think he'd know?"

Tony can't answer but Steve hears his inhale, watches his pupils blow. He has an exhibitionist streak a mile wide. "I'm close," Steve warns him. Then: "Don't swallow."

Not that Tony can, easily, but he doesn't even try and Steve makes an absolute mess of his mouth, fills it up and spills out, down his chin. Steve cups Tony's jaw for a moment after, gentle, to stop him from pulling off. He thumbs some of the cum and uses it to trace a figure-eight over Tony's cheek. "Pretty," he rewards, shifting enough for Tony to get the clue and pull off. "You can swallow."

Tony sits up and Steve's smile warms, fondness taking over the lust. "You can clean up after you take care of yourself."

"Gee, thanks," Tony says dryly, but it doesn't stop him from taking himself in hand while Steve watches with lazy approval.

He's happy after, tucking himself into bed against Steve's warm, strong body. They don't usually share a bed at night, both with too many individual triggers to make the night restful for anyone else, but on the rare occasion that it works out, it's nice. Tony's eyes close as Steve drapes an arm over his body, pulling him in to spoon, and Tony lets him.

He doesn't trust much any more, but he trusts that.


	7. Domesticity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Wade have lived together for a long time and know each other well.

Peter drinks tea now.

All through his twenties and thirties he was a coffee person. Wade blamed Tony and his "terrible, horrible, no good very bad influence" on it, but now that Peter's switched to tea the coffee maker has sat cold and untouched on the counter for… a year now since it was last used?

Wade frowns at it. He should get rid of it; ever since he moved in with Peter he's abhorred clutter in a desperate attempt at keeping his life on track and worthy of existence in his baby boy's company. It's unused. He should get rid of it.

He makes some coffee to go with the lunch he's whipping up, some breaded chicken and leftover pasta. It's nearly done brewing when he hears the outer door open and close.

"It's me!" Peter's voice calls out.

"In the kitchen," Wade replies even though it isn't necessary. Peter's hearing outstrips nearly everyone's.

Wade's getting out two mugs when Peter walks in, tie loosened and coat off and presumably hung at the door. He's here for lunch; they make it a point to do lunch together twice a week, when neither of them are out of town at least. Parker Industries keeps Peter busy, but you make time for people you care about.

"Smells good," Peter rewards, stepping behind Wade at the stove to steal a sideways kiss, his hands momentarily on Wade's hips. "What're we having?"

"Just some chicken. It's ready."

"Coffee?" Peter seems amused by the fact that Wade pulled the carafe out of its dusty retirement. He picks his cup up but adds nothing but a bit of cream from the same carton in the fridge that he uses for his teas. He used to have a sweet tooth, but turning fifty had turned that into few and far between cravings for bitter chocolate and not much else.

"Thought you could use the pick-me-up," Wade explains.

"You're not wrong," Peter admits and sits with a grunt at the table, where Wade joins him with the food. They dig in and Peter goes over that morning's meeting with the head of his research department. He gestures with his fork when he talks, and Wade finds himself zoning out a little, watching Peter's lips move. He's got deeper lines around his eyes than usual, which reminds Wade to set a stricter bedtime, because Peter will stay up all night if he gets into a project at just the wrong time.

"Right?" Peter asks in what is obviously a question he's said at least twice already, and Wade blinks back to him, caught out not paying attention. Peter's smile is indulgent. "Hey. Everything okay?"

Wade nods, finishes the last bite of chicken. Peter has stopped dyeing his hair and it's salt and pepper throughout. He's self-conscious about it but also practical, and Wade's said it's a good look on him enough times to override the discomfort. "Was just thinking. You up for a quickie?"

Peter laughs, fond, won. "A quickie," he repeats.

"Or a longie." Wade wiggles his non-brows and Peter's expression turns thoughtful.

"Lemme make a call," he says, and gets on his phone, but to Wade's surprise and delight it's to call out for the rest of the day with his personal assistant. Peter hangs up and turns to Wade with a warm smile, looping an arm over the back of his neck to pull him in. "A longie," he murmurs against Wade's lips, then kisses him.

Their bodies know each other. There aren't unmet kisses or awkward elbow bumps. They move for their bedroom hand-in-hand and take turns gentling clothing off of each other, the pieces placed on the dresser to wear later, and trading soft kisses. Their favorite position has Peter on his side, his leg hiked up as Wade works him open with practiced fingers and Peter's eyes close in bliss.

They're quiet today. Wade isn't in a rush, and he likes seeing Peter like this under him, soft and open, his lithe muscles relaxed. Wade leans down and presses a kiss to Peter's bare shoulder as he withdraws his fingers and sinks into a warmth he knows well.

"You're beautiful," Wade whispers, making Peter's eyes fly open to meet his.

Peter's smile hooks up a little, almost nostalgic. He never takes compliments well, even though Wade has trained him finally not to shy out from under their weight. "Wade…"

"Baby boy," Wade hushes him. His thrusts in are slow and savoring, a rolling rhythm.

Peter huffs. "Dunno if you can—ah—call me that any more," and it's a joke but it also isn't.

Wade's hips nearly stop. Instead he stutters then drives forward harder, punctuating, possessive. Peter arches back and moans.

"I'll call my baby boy whatever I want," Wade grunts. Peter gasps and reaches for himself, and Wade stops him, replacing Peter's hand with his own. His strokes are quick. Somehow it doesn't cause him to lose his own rhythm, pounding into Peter now, harsh breaths staccato in the air.

"Wade," Peter pleads, a whine.

"Yeah, baby boy, you can come," Wade growls in answer to the unasked question, and Peter tenses, tightening around Wade as he gasps out his release.

After, Wade's gentle again, cleaning them both up and pulling Peter into his broad chest to cuddle. He kisses his nose, and Peter twitches and smiles, but the insecurity from the joke earlier is still there. Wade waits it out.

"I'm almost fifty four," is how Peter goes about it, and it makes something in Wade's heart clench. He gathers Peter closer, both of his arms wrapped around him.

"Yeah you are," Wade agrees. "Gonna celebrate my baby boy's birthday in style this year."

Peter ignores that and asks, softly, tipping his chin up so he can sort of see Wade's face. "You're still happy with us? Even though we don't patrol anymore?" He'd given up the mask years ago. Another Spider-man has taken up the mantle, leaving Peter to just be Peter.

Wade inhales sharply, shifts, and makes them sit up so he can thumb at Peter's lips and cup his jaw. "This is the end of this story but not the end of our story," he says. Peter's used to this from him, and it's enough to make him smile again, but Wade goes on. "We're gonna have a hundred more. A hundred hundred. And I promise, Peter," and the R in his name hits Peter's ears particularly hard. "No matter what you do or don't do, or are or aren't in any of them, I'll love you."

Peter feels his throat tighten. He wants to say it back but he's never been good at that and kisses Wade instead, hoping he knows what it means.

By the way Wade draws Peter in to hug, he does.


	8. Masturbation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony jerks off in a sauna in front of Steve.

Steve has had a long day.

He leans back against the wall in the sauna, grateful once again to the Starks and all the modern conveniences that money can buy. Say what you want about the family, Tony Stark, or billionaires in general, but at the end of the day it's nice to have the Avengers set up in a reappropriated mansion. Steve isn't going to bite the hand that feeds him today.

The door opens, letting in cooler air and Tony, who has a towel wrapped so precariously around his waist it doesn't provide much more than the implication of modesty. Not that Steve honestly minds. By now they've seen each other nude more times than Steve cares to count, thanks to assorted hazards and necessities of the job, and Steve will admit that Tony's nice to look at. He might not exercise much in the traditional sense, but between his job mechanicking and him operating the suit, he's fitter than most people are these days. Tony designes his suits to allow him to move them himself, physically, if needed, if the power ever goes out. He has the muscles to back it.

"I think you're lying," Tony declares, apropos of absolutely nothing. He drapes himself carelessly on another bench, the towel splaying open obscenely, revealing his hip and most of his left thigh. Tony corrects none of it. Steve has adjusted his own towel to cover himself better. He isn't uncomfortable with nudity and certainly isn't uncomfortable in his own skin, but he's a man who prefers to keep some pretenses.

"Sorry?" Steve lifts a brow, already feeling himself rising to the bait. Tony is admittedly excellent at finding and repeatedly pushing his buttons. Steve knows this by now, but knowing doesn't make him any better able to guard against it. And Steve's an honest man, or tries to be. This is definitely a button.

"There's no chance you were born July 4th," Tony informs him. Sweat is evaporating as quickly as it beads on Steve's skin. He takes a drink of water from the bottle at his side. Tony's eyes haven't left him, his gaze half-lidded and lazy. Tony's blatant about his interest in Steve, but maybe it's only physical; he's never acted on it, and Steve's come to expect the looks from him.

"That right?" Steve asks, idle.

Tony sounds like he's been waiting for this opening for months. "It's too convenient. America's darling was born on America's birthday? It's not like you're lab-made. Did they just pick the first person who applied with a birthday to match, or was there some—" and he wiggles his fingers, "—fudging done?"

Steve stares at him. He can admit that he never saw this line of accusation coming. "That's my birthday," he begins, but it's a beat too slow and Tony pounces on it, his whole expression lighting up into triumph.

"I knew it! That was a guess but a good one. When is it really?" He demands, then continues, "No don't tell me. I bet I can find your real birth certificate somewhere. Or is that changed too? This is the biggest conspiracy of this century," he adds. The towel inches open a little further.

"Your towel," Steve points out, more for a distraction than anything, but Tony is someone who grabs the bull by its horns and he just lets the cloth open fully. It slides off of his thighs, which he lets fall open too. Tony always carries himself like he assumes the whole universe wanting to see his naked form is inevitable.

"Thanks," Tony says. "That was in the way," and Steve rolls his eyes. He knows but now that Tony will take anything as encouragement. The eye roll unfortunately counts. "Like what you see?"

"I've seen you before," Steve says bluntly, too bluntly, a way to cover his tracks.

Tony notices everything. He slides his hand, deliberate, down his chest and abdomen and to his own thigh, and Steve's eyes follow. Tony smirks. "Want to see a little more?"

Steve's swallow is visible, a click he's sure that Tony can hear. Tony takes himself in hand, elegant fingers massaging a little until he's hard enough to grip, then they wrap around his length.

This is a scene that Steve has pictured before.

Tony's slow at first, his hand gliding over his cock, thumb teasing at the tip. He rolls a bead of precum off and around the head, then strokes down with a moan that's soft and obscene. It'll feature heavily later in Steve's fantasies.

Tony doesn't say another word, and his eyes never leave Steve's, watching Steve's face as his strokes quicken, the soft smack of skin almost unbearably loud in the otherwise quiet room. Tony lets his mouth open, runs a tongue over his bottom lip as he meets Steve's eyes, and then he's coming, sudden, with a gasp.

Steve can't look away.

He's transfixed, his own cock achingly hard under the poor excuse for his towel. Tony cleans the mess up efficiently like he's done this a million times before, and he stands and has the audacity to say, "I'll find those papers," which snaps Steve back to the present like nothing else can.

"Tony," Steve says, voice gravel.

Tony pauses on the way to the door and looks back over his shoulder. The towel he'd used for cleanup is carelessly in one hand, leaving him nude. His eyes flick down, to the bulge under Steve's towel, and up to his face. "Could be more than just a show, Steve."

Tony shakes his hand near his ear in a way Steve later learns meant 'call me', winks, and saunters out the door, leaving Steve with a very hard erection, and one final burst of cold air.


	9. Feederism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade tries to fatten Peter up.

Peter doesn't get fat.

Wade's tried. Trying. It is definitely not for lack of effort on Wade's part that this isn't happening. His Omega was dangerously thin when they met, but he'd assumed at the time that was just the cause of a poor diet, of a lack of money. Wade's expression the first time he had opened Peter's fridge and found nothing but a two-year-old open box of baking soda, a half bottle of Snapple, and some maple syrup for some reason didn't do the words 'shocked horror' justice. The Alpha was quick to remedy this, first stocking up Peter's pantry with essentials and then paying a grocery service to deliver food weekly, in addition to the massive amount of takeout that found its way to Peter's door by way of highly tipped and vaguely threatened delivery people.

It doesn't change anything though. Peter stays too thin, even though Wade knows he's eating. Wade can see the outlines of his hip bones through his Spidey suit, and it isn't healthy. Omegas should have some fat on them.

He moves in. One day Peter comes back to his apartment and Wade is just there, with a lot of his things, and he complains about it but not hard, not enough to kick the Alpha out, or turn down the dinner he makes, or stop him from climbing into his bed that night.

That's the first time Peter let's Wade have him, in the dark of his room on his twin bed that Wade trades out the next day for a king. The Alpha presses hot fingers into his slick hole, mouthing kisses to his neck as he works Peter open. He fucks him slowly, bareback because neither of them can catch diseases, and knots him with a sigh.

Peter falls asleep tied to him, cuddled in to Wade's chest, his face lax. Sweet. Male Omegas are rare and somewhat ostracized. Like female Alphas, they can't bear children. He doesn't need the extra weight, technically. It isn't hurting his non-existent kids.

Wade wants to put it on him anyway.

It's an instinct. A drive. He hand feeds Peter grapes in bed between fucks, while they're tied together and Peter doesn't have anywhere else to go. He brings snacks along for patrols, makes cheesecakes for desserts, fixes him lavish breakfasts.

He can see Peter's ribs. His abs. A six-pack that would be sexy on an Alpha but makes Wade's Alpha instincts rear.

Peter jokes about it sometimes, says things like, "I think you're trying to fatten me up," and Wade never disagrees because of course he is. Yes, he is.

Wade hasn't found the right combination to beat Peter's ridiculous metabolism yet, but it's just a matter of time. He will.


End file.
